Finding Arcadia: December 24, 1941
by Abarero
Summary: England inwardly berated himself for not realizing it sooner. He'd just been so caught up with his own problems in the war... By God, it had only been seventeen days since the attack; no wonder America wasn't acting like himself. England/America.


**Notes:** Written for tokene as part of the livejournal community, himitsu_santa. She asked for _Anything history centric. I'd like to learn something please._ So hopefully this accomplishes that. ^^

* * *

**Finding Arcadia: December 24, 1941**

* * *

They'd arrived on the twenty second. England remembered clearly that his boss had cabled ahead, telling Roosevelt 'on no account come out to meet me.' Of course, that evening when they landed, there was the president, with America right beside him, in the dusk light waiting to greet their guests.

England felt a small pang in his heart at this, but he pushed it aside. They were here for business, _important business_, and dwelling on the past now just wasn't proper. It was, after all, almost Christmas.

The next few days were a bustle of late-night conversations, press conferences, and in short, the two bosses getting on quite well. At one point, when Roosevelt started needling Churchill about the Boer War during dinner, England had to get up and excuse himself a moment.

Retreating to the hall outside, he tried to rub the tension from his forehead. It quite figured, that their bloody _bosses_ would be getting on so much better than they were. America, although cordial, had been strangely quiet and withdrawn their whole visit. Quite often, when England inquired as to the other nation's whereabouts, he was nowhere to be found.

It was Christmas Eve when it finally dawned on England why America had been acting so strangely.

The lighting of the National Christmas tree was something England just _knew_ America adored. He remembered back in 1858 how America had used the new transatlantic telegraph cable to send him a message about how 'awesome' his bloody Christmas tree was that year. So, he found it strange that America hadn't done this same this year to his face.

As they were walking out to the South Portico for the lighting ceremony, his boss leaned over and whispered in his ear, "You'd best stand right of your fellow nation, England. He's trying mighty hard to hide it, but he's hurting badly. No surprise really, considering your injuries during the Blitz."

Green eyes went wide, and England inwardly berated himself for not realizing it sooner. He'd just been so caught up with his own problems in the war... By God, it had only been _seventeen days_ since the attack; no wonder America wasn't acting like himself.

As the president stepped out on the Portico to address the South Lawn, England's eyes darted to the slight glimmer of steel braces that gripped the man's legs. He too was standing strong for his people. With a courteous nod to his boss, England replied, "Of course, Sir. I'll look after him."

Churchill placed a warm hand on his country's shoulder. "That's the spirit. It's vital that we strengthen these relations, you know."

England nodded, excusing himself to where America stood. Taking his place at America's side, England noticed his boss giving them a smile and a nod before Churchill turned his full attention back to the president.

"Hallo, America," he murmured.

"Hey England," he replied, but it wasn't with the usual jovial tone he held. It was tired, world-weary, and just…_not America_.

England let his eyes trace over the uniform America wore, the words that Roosevelt was saying just a dull hum in the back of his mind. He could see it now, the way America held himself was rigid and forced. There was tautness to his shoulders and weariness in his eyes, even his smile seeming a bit strained as the tree was lit in its red, white and blue lights.

Continuing his silent inspection throughout the president's speech, England started when he heard Roosevelt's final words.

"And so I am asking my associate, my old and good friend, to say a word to the people of America, old and young, tonight- Winston Churchill, Prime Minister of Great Britain."

There was a round of applause then, and as America clapped along, England caught sight of bandages peaking out just slightly around the collar of America's shirt. He rounded on him then, right as his boss began his speech.

"Look, I know you're hurting," England began.

But America cut him off, with a hollow laugh. "What are you talking about old man? I'm perfectly fine!"

England frowned. That was just it then. Stiff upper lip and all that, like he himself had done over the years. But seeing America doing the same, being strong for citizens and country, it was just…it _hurt_ England too. The blasted idiot.

"America..." He trailed off, his ears catching what his boss was saying to the American people.

"I spend this anniversary and festival far from my country, far from my family, and yet I cannot truthfully say that I feel far from home. Whether it be…"

Churchill paused then at the applause of the crowd, and England turned his attention back to America. His boss was right. They needed America. England _needed_ America. And tonight, although they were an ocean away from their homeland, this strange little gathering of prime minister and president, of older country and younger country, it felt oddly like home.

As if by means of consoling him, solidarity in his suffering and all, England tentatively laid his hand on America's back. He tensed at first, a flicker of pain crossing his face before those wide blue eyes England knew all too well turned to look at him.

"E-England...?"

"It's a lovely Christmas tree, America," England murmured. He wouldn't press him about his injuries right now. Not in front of the people.

America gave an awkward laugh, following England's gaze out onto the South Lawn. "Yeah, it's really...awesome."

They stood like that, with England's hand still lightly touching America's back, as they listened to the prime minister speak. Churchill concluded with a hearty, "And so, in God's mercy, a happy Christmas to you all."

The crowds applauded, voices singing carols in the cool winter night. It was a time of war, England knew this well, but as his boss had just reminded the American people, it was also a night of joy and celebration. One night of peace before the formidable presence of the war descended back upon them all.

As their two bosses retreated from the Portico to go inside, England reluctantly withdrew from his stance by America. A hesitant hand reached out to hold him back.

"England, wait a second."

The turned back, America's fingers still loose around his wrist. "Yes?"

He started to reach up to rub the back of his neck, but America felt a twinge of pain as he lifted his arm up past a certain point and thought better of it. Dropping it back to his side, he muttered. "Your boss kinda asked a favor of me. And well, it'd be bad foreign relations if I refused so...uh...you're staying at my place tonight."

England opened his mouth, mumbling a quiet "O-Oh" before he composed himself again. "All right then, shall we go?"

America nodded, still a bit stiffly. "Yeah."

* * *

The late evening had passed pretty quietly. England had spent a good deal of it, bringing his things over from the White House quarters he'd been staying in and getting them settled in the guest room America had given him.

But it rather worried him when America had refused to take him up the stairs, instead pointing and saying, "First door on the right, okay?"

And although it was getting late, England found it strange that he'd still not heard America come up the staircase to his room. Deciding upon the ruse of getting himself a cup of tea, if America even had any, England wrapped himself in a robe, slipped on some slippers and padded downstairs.

America was in the sitting room, a roaring fire burning next to his Christmas tree. But it was America's seating arrangement that caused the frown on England's face. The recliner he was resting in was piled in pillows, and America himself was curled up in a pile of blankets.

Quietly now, as if he could discern what was going on, the older country watched him from the staircase.

Sure enough, he could clearly see the bandages now that ran across America's chest peering out from his pajama top. Shifting in the chair to get more comfortable, America winced in pain, sucking in a breath so sharply that it was audible even at a distance.

_My God America...you bloody hero,_ England cursed inwardly, quickly crossing the room. As he expected, America tried to act nonchalant about the whole ordeal.

"Oh, hi England! I'm just..." He glanced down to his odd bed of pillows. "I'm sleeping out here to wait for Santa Claus!"

England sighed. Normally, he would accept that. That was something America probably did annually, the daft fool. But he could see the strain in his shoulders. He was still in so much raw pain, and he was trying so hard to be strong. That's why he was sleeping in the recliner, it was the most comfort he could manage.

_Blasted idiot. Fine, if he's going to be this way about it, then the fool isn't going to do it alone. At least not on my watch._

"Well then," England cleared his throat. "I shall have to join you once I retrieve a cup of tea. You _do_ have tea, right?"

America blinked in confusion. "You want..."

"Don't even start in on me being too old for Santa or some such rubbish. We both know Finland treats his fellow nations quite well on the holidays. Now, if you could please inform me as to where, if any, tea would be located in this house, that would be brilliant."

England held his gaze firmly, until finally America relented. "Well, I think there might be some in the back of the cabinet. Lithuania used to hide some there for when you came to check on him."

"Thank you," he replied, busting off into the other room to get himself a cup.

* * *

They'd actually managed a bit of conversation _without_ getting into a fight. England chalked it up to the fact he was worried about America's condition, so he was watching his words. And America just...didn't seem to have it in him right now to bicker like they usually did.

England was playing along with America trying to pretend he wasn't in any sort of pain. He respected America enough that he would allow him that dignity, but he also hoped that America would trust him enough to eventually discuss it. The last thing England wanted now was to press the matter and to disrupt what small amount of camaraderie they'd managed that evening. He would be there when America allowed it.

It was nearing midnight when America's stomach rumbled. With a strained laugh, he cast a sideways glance at England.

"Uh…not like I _enjoy_ eating your burnt food or anything, but it kind of hurts to move and I'm really hungry, so England could you…"

That was it. The spell was broken. America's blue eyes shot wide as he realized what he'd admitted, what weakness he'd shown. He opened his mouth to backtrack, to try and change his words, but England was too quick upon him.

The Briton stood, set aside his teacup, and crossed the small distance from the couch to the chair. Green eyes softened as they met America's eyes, the injured country blurting out, "I'm just joking, England. Really! I can get up and move around just fine. I'm just…"

His words died on his lips as England closed the small space between them and embraced him gently. The older country's breath was warm in his ear as he spoke, "Don't. It's all right, America. You don't have to put on airs for me."

"E-England…"

He chuckled, very softly rubbing a hand down America's back. England could feel the thick bandages that criss-crossed America's chest under his pajamas. "I know. You need to be strong for your people. For your country. For your boss, even. But…" England hesitated. Certainly, they weren't as aloof of acquaintances as they had been, but they still weren't as close as they used to be. Before he could decide on whether his next statement was pushing things too far, America piped up.

"I should be a strong ally for you too, England."

Pulling back, but letting his hands linger on America's taut shoulders, England stared at him. A wry smile tugged at his lips. "You don't need to do anything but be yourself, America." His cheeks pinked. "Don't get me wrong! It's not like it matters to me how you treat me, but… isn't that what…" For the second time he hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "America, these are dire times. And I'm quite certain you've heard what my boss has been saying about us. It is due time we stand together. United against a common foe and all that. And, perhaps that starts right now with you and with me. Being…"

"Being friends?" America asked, trying to hide the edge of hopefulness in his tone.

England felt his face flush, and he willed it down. "That would be a start, wouldn't it?"

The tension in the air was palpable at that, both of them toying with a line that they'd not dared cross since the days of the revolution. Sure, they'd grown closer during the first World War, but this was different. It was if they could feel that this would be a monumental change, a step forward instead of back.

At almost the same moment, they both offered a hand. A timid smile surfaced on America's lips as he murmured, "Let's fight this war together, England."

England clasped his hand and shook it. "Together, then."

America grinned, yanking England towards him haphazardly into a hug. After the last seventeen days, he _needed_ this. Although he'd never tell England that.

"Awesome!" He said, playing it off cool.

England looked thoroughly flustered as he pulled back, scoffing. "Idiot, you're going to hurt yourself further if you keep doing reckless things."

America rubbed at his ribs. "Ah. Yeah, that did hurt a bit...but don't worry, England! I'm a hero, and I can handle it!" He flashed England a winning grin at that.

_It probably hurts a good deal more than 'a bit,'_ England mused to himself. But, he let it slide. It was Christmas, after all, and at least America was sounding more like himself.

Standing up, England picked up his teacup. "I'm going to go get another spot of tea. Would you like some…oh I don't know, horrible American thing like coffee or hot cocoa?"

The smile on America's face now was genuine, not strained or forced as it had been earlier that evening. "Hot cocoa, of course! It's Christmas Ev-"

He cut himself off as the mantelpiece clock started chiming midnight. Turning back to England, he grinned. "Happy Christmas, England!"

England blushed, and busied himself with going to retrieve their warm drinks. Right as he reached the edge of the door though, he called back over his shoulder.

"America?"

"Huh?"

"I just wanted to say. Well. Merry Christmas."

America and England stayed up late, talking about inane things and sipping warm drinks. Finally, when the clock neared two in the morning, they fell asleep. America in his chair and England wrapped up in a spare comforter on the couch.

The next day at Christmas mass, as their bosses sang hymns together; England would reach a hand over every time America winced when trying to stand up or sit down. It was subtle, so subtle no one else would notice. But America did and he smiled at the older country, warm and thankful.

This was going to be the beginning of something..._grand_.

* * *

Final Notes:

(there are links for this if you visit my writing journal (hot_ice_hilda) on livejournal!)

[1] The Arcadia Conference was held in Washington, D.C. from December 22, 1941 to January 14, 1942. It was the first strategic meeting between the heads of government of the United Kingdom and the United States after the United States entered World War II.

[2] Loads of info from Franklin and Winston: an intimate portrait of an epic friendship by Jon Meacham, chapter 5.

[3] The Boer Wars. Roosevelt supported the Boers while at Harvard while Churchill was a veteran of those battles fighting for the other side.

[4] The 1941 National Christmas Tree was decorated in red, white and blue by the Electric Institute of America.

[5] The transatlantic telegraph cable was the first cable used for telegraph communications laid across the floor of the Atlantic Ocean.

[6] The Blitz was the sustained bombing of Britain by Germany between 7 September 1940 and 10 May 1941.

[7] "Seventeen days since the attack," refers to the attack on Pearl Harbor, which was an unannounced military strike conducted by the Japanese navy against the United States naval base at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii on the morning of December 7, 1941.

[8] The Christmas speeches of Roosevelt and Churchill were broadcast via radio to the American people.

[9] The recliner was first patented in 1931 by a company that would go on to be called _La-Z-Boy_.

[10] "the beginning of something..._grand_" refers to the fact that the The Arcadia Conference led to the formation of The Grand Alliance in WWII.


End file.
